The Adventure of the Admiral's Wife
by Westron Wynde
Summary: When Mrs Hudson's niece is accused of murder, Holmes and Dr Watson go in search of the truth concerning the death of the wife of a respected Admiral. COMPLETE!
1. I: The Delightful Miss Hopkirk

**Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson are the creations of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. This is a work of fan fiction, written by a fan, for the pleasure of other fans and no harm is meant or intended by its creation.**

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_**The Adventure of the Admiral's Wife**_

**I: The Delightful Miss Hopkirk**

It is rare that I indulge in that alleged passion of the inhabitants of these isles for a lengthy discourse on the gamut of metrological conditions afforded by our weather, but on occasion I find that I am forced to take a personal interest. Since acquiring my injuries, I have discovered a new talent for forecasting that is not often wrong.

The coming of rain, for example, produces within me an ache that is unpleasant, unwelcome and most distinctive. Sherlock Holmes would never have it that such a thing was possible and has proved to me several times that he is equally able to gauge the weather of the coming day by a close observance of the clouds.

That I have been proved right more often than he regrettably has provoked a rivalry of sorts between us, where he refuses to accept my well-meant advice to avail himself of an umbrella on any particular day. I have given up trying to win this battle of wills and no longer press the point with him. I would state, however, that my wardrobe does not contain a wilted straw boater and three expensive and ultimately ruined top hats. Let it never be said that pride does not come before a fall.

I mention this in passing because the particular business which I now relate occurred during one of the wettest summers of my memory. Rain had fallen on St Swithin's Day and, in keeping with tradition, the outlook for the next forty days promised more of the same. Early August of 1885 found the vast majority of the country suffering floods and the broadsheets were replete with tales of ruined crops and fears of famine to come.

For myself, the almost continual nagging of my old war wounds did little towards the inducement of my good humour. Even Holmes had noticed the change in me and had not helped matters by describing me as being tetchy. Coming from a man whose own disposition swings wildly between peaks of elation and utter despondency, I found his remarks presumptuous to say the least.

Words were exchanged on the matter and it took the prospect of a Paganini Violin Concerto to heal the temporary rift. Thus it was the twin forces of driving rain and the aforementioned concert that drove me home late that afternoon and into a most affable introduction.

No sooner was I indoors than Mrs Hudson made the usual platitudes about the weather being little good for my health, commented on how wet my outer clothes were, and went on to apologise for the lack of supper as she had a visitor.

From the expectant look in her eye, I took it that she was waiting for some inquiry on my part as to the identity of this guest. No sooner had I asked than I was whisked into her small drawing room and into the presence of an excessively pretty young lady of about four-and-twenty, with a pert freckled nose and lively blue eyes that spoke of a keen spirit within. The resemblance to our landlady was too marked to mistake and I had already deduced the family connection before Mrs Hudson confirmed the same.

"My niece," she explained, making the introductions. "Miss Emily Hopkirk. And this, my dear, is Dr John Watson, the better of my tenants."

"A pleasure to meet you, Dr Watson," said she, her face radiating the sincerity her words so ably conveyed. "I have heard much about you."

"Won't you join us, Doctor?" said Mrs Hudson. "We were about to take tea."

It seemed churlish to refuse and, with some little time before the concert and a definite hunger, I gladly accepted the invitation. While Mrs Hudson bustled in and out with sandwiches, cakes and a sizable teapot, I took it upon myself to learn a little more about Miss Hopkirk.

Some gentle interrogation revealed that she was employed as a lady's maid to an Admiral's wife who lived in the Lake District and seemed to be suffering from some unspecified ailment.

"Her appetite is extremely poor," Miss Hopkirk explained. "Some days go by when she will not have a bite to eat and she is quite wasted away from it. Skin and bone has never been so frailly held together, Doctor. It is only at my urging that she eats anything at all."

"If you ask me," said Mrs Hudson, "it's nothing more than her fancy. That husband of hers indulges this whim and that makes it worse."

"I hardly think so, aunt, for the Admiral is most concerned about her. He has employed specialists from London and even they cannot find the cause of her distress."

"If you ask me," said Mrs Hudson, using again what appeared to be her favourite phrase of the moment, "he likes her being ill. Makes him feel wanted, what with her being a lot younger than he is."

"There is a considerable age difference?" I asked.

"He's forty years her senior and more," said Mrs Hudson, pouring tea into my cup. "If you ask me, Emily, between the pair of them, they work you to death up in that big house in the middle of nowhere."

Miss Hopkirk smiled tolerantly at her aunt. "In truth, at times I am more nurse than lady's maid, but it is no great hardship. I enjoy the work and when she is well, Mrs Randall is a most gracious hostess. We are not isolated at all."

"But you do manage to escape from time to time?" I asked.

"I try to visit my aunt as often as is possible," said she. "She is the only family I have left in the world, since my dear mother passed away. I would prefer a position in town, but at present I cannot think of leaving Mrs Randall."

"She is unwell?"

"No, in fact she has been feeling a little better of late and has taken it upon herself to arrange a summer ball. I should not have liked to have left her so early this morning, except that she forced me to go."

"She 'forced' you?"

Miss Hopkirk coloured somewhat. "Rather I should say 'encouraged'. She knows of my fondness for my aunt and suggested that I should take advantage of her improvement to come to town and, while I was here, to collect several items for the forthcoming ball. In that respect, she is most considerate."

"But not in others?"

"Oh, no, I did not mean it so," said she hurriedly. "I'm sure she has my best interests at heart."

I was starting to think I had lost the thread of this conversation when Mrs Hudson was kind enough to elucidate.

"Emily has a young man, Dr Watson. A medical gentleman like yourself."

"Aunt, he isn't _my_ young man at all," said Miss Hopkirk, that pleasing high colour returning to her cheeks. "He has been kind enough to pay me some compliments, nothing more."

"That Mrs Randall doesn't want him taking Emily away from her, if you ask me."

"It is true she has some peculiar ideas about marriage. She said once that love was the most destructive force in the world."

"Then she would get along admirably with Mr Sherlock Holmes," said I. "He shares similar sentiments."

"Ah, yes, we have met. Tell me, Dr Watson, is he really as clever as he pretends to be? I thought him terribly immodest and was sure that he was overstating his abilities."

It amused me to think how Holmes would react to such a blunt appraisal of his character. As it was, it fell to me to defend his honour and even then I am not totally sure he would have approved of my valiant attempt.

"I'm afraid he is," said I. "Annoyingly so at times."

"He has never erred?"

"Not that he has ever confided to me."

"I find that most reassuring."

"You do? I should call it quite something else."

"No, it is better to project the illusion of perfection even if that is not the case," said she. "For whom would one have rather attend them in a crisis – the doctor who has lost many patients, or the doctor who has lost none?"

"A doctor and a private detective are hardly the same thing, dear," said Mrs Hudson, rising to refill the teapot.

"Yes, Miss Hopkirk," said I. "I do take your meaning. I suppose Holmes does find this aura of infallibility works to his advantage. Why do you ask?"

She hesitated momentarily. "Because Mrs Randall was considering consulting him."

"Indeed. On what matter?"

"Of that, I am unsure. Only, she was keen to know whether he was successful in resolving the problems brought before him, in case, as she put it, she was ever in need of his advice."

Mrs Hudson snorted. "Another of her fancies, I dare say."

"Well, on that point at least you may put her mind at ease. Holmes always acts to the best of his abilities, which I must say are far better than anyone else's I've ever met."

"You have absolute confidence in him?"

Any chance to reply was dashed away by the sudden appearance of the man himself, letting himself into the hall amidst much grumbling about the weather and whether the infernal rain had any intention of ever stopping. His call for our landlady came ever closer until he was upon us and in the room, a sodden top hat in his hand and a frustrated expression on his face.

"Mrs Hudson, is there anything to be done with this?" he said, holding the dripping hat out to her. "I was caught in a sudden squall and –"

"Sudden?" said she. "Why, Mr Holmes, it's been raining all afternoon. Why ever didn't you take the good Doctor's advice and take your umbrella with you?"

Holmes scowled at her. "Because the sky promised fair this morning."

"And now you've ruined another perfectly good hat. Men and their pride!"

"Quite so. Good afternoon to you, Miss Hopkirk. Watson, you are coming this evening?"

The flood of observations, greetings and questions came so rapidly that was I quite slow in gathering my thoughts to answer.

"Yes, Holmes. We were just having tea. Won't you join us?"

"I think not. The performance starts in one hour and a half, and you are not even dressed yet."

"Neither are you."

"Then we shall both be late. Good day, Miss Hopkirk, Mrs Hudson."

With that most cursory of farewells, he was gone, leaving me to make my apologies and find a polite way of extracting myself from the gathering.

"You didn't answer my question, Doctor," said Miss Hopkirk. "Do you have confidence in Mr Holmes?"

"In all things except where the weather is concerned," said I.

She smiled back. "Then that will have to do. Goodbye, Dr Watson."

Appalled at such a blatant show of bad manners, once upstairs, I bearded Holmes in his den and upbraided him while he was dressing.

"What you see as rudeness, Watson, I see as a mercy to a friend in trouble," said he whilst fiddling with his collar.

"What nonsense! You were impolite to that perfectly nice young lady, Holmes."

He gave me a tolerant stare. "Mrs Hudson is looking for a husband for that 'perfectly nice young lady'. I trust you have not committed yourself to any rash promises."

"No. In any case, you are wrong. She has a young man."

"Ah, yes, the shy country doctor, who sighs wistfully in her presence and gives her the occasional compliment. He sounds a little too good to be genuine. You, on the other hand, would make an eminently respectable prospect for marriage."

"Holmes, you have no shame. That is slander of the worst kind."

"About you or Miss Hopkirk?"

"Now you're being obtuse."

"Watson," he said with a sigh, "I have already had the pleasure of Miss Hopkirk's company. Mrs Hudson feels most protective towards the girl and fate has by chance landed in her lap two eligible bachelors, of which you are the preferred option. Now, do you wish to marry Miss Hopkirk?"

"Well, no."

"Then go and get dressed. And make haste, man! I have no intention of missing the opening."

In this way, we arrived at the concert with minutes to spare and by the time we returned Miss Hopkirk had gone, presumably back to the Lake District. I should have given the matter no further thought had it not been for the wail that disturbed the peace of our breakfast some two weeks later, on a morning when the sky was as grey as slate and rain drummed at our windows.

We both hurried downstairs to find Mrs Hudson in tears, holding a wire in her hand.

"Oh, sirs," said she between sobs. "It's my niece, Emily. She's been arrested for murder. They say she's killed her mistress!"

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_Sounds like a case for Holmes and Watson to me!_

_To Be Continued._

_Reviews always appreciated and very welcome!_


	2. II: A Visit from Dr Cuddy

_**The Adventure of the Admiral's Wife**_

**II: A Visit from Dr Cuddy**

The next morning found us breathing the sweet air of Cumbria and feasting our eyes on a verdant sea of lush greens that carpeted the surrounding hills. Such was the sight when I pulled back my curtains and threw open my window to admit the earthly smells of the countryside into my bedchamber. The sun shone, the sky was an expanse of uninterrupted blue and all seemed right with the world.

Except there was a cloud in this valley of sunshine and despite the beauty of my surroundings I could not forget the reason why we were here.

Within an hour of hearing Mrs Hudson's news concerning her niece, we had boarded a train headed for the north of England, armed with the barest of details about the case. Delays on the line meant that it was nearly midnight by the time we reached Windermere to not inconsiderable consternation from the locals, for it seemed this incident had occurred at the height of the season. Every hotel and guest house in the immediate vicinity were packed to overflowing and the only rooms to be had were some five miles outside the town in the house of a farmer who let out rooms in the peak season.

For myself, I had passed a most pleasant and refreshing night. The mattress was comfortably saggy and fairly dipped in the middle, making leaving the bed a somewhat difficult task. Thus, it was some time after eight that I finally forced myself to rise and took in the view.

Sheep grazed the farthermost hills and in the farmyard below, cattle lowed. The church bells in the distance, the singing of the birds, and the cheery whistle of the farm boy as he went about his work told me that I was miles away from smoky, rainy London. All was bright and beautiful, except for the expression on the face of the familiar figure I saw coming at a brisk pace down the muddy track that led to the farm. Sherlock Holmes was up and about already, and he did not look at all pleased.

By the time he arrived, I had dressed and made it down to the kitchen, where I encountered our fellow lodgers, a group of German hikers. We made our introductions, to my shame their English being better than my German, and we settled down for what promised to be a hearty breakfast that the lady of house, a stout woman by the name of Mrs Tweedle, was busily preparing on the range.

Our bacon-scented idyll was interrupted by a sharp gust of wind as Holmes entered. It did not take a particularly quick eye to deduce that he had walked far that morning, for his boots were thick with mud which had splattered up his lower legs. From somewhere he had acquired a sturdy walking stick and this he carelessly tossed into a corner as he took a seat at the long oak table opposite to me with a heartfelt sigh of weariness.

"You were up early," I remarked.

"So I was," said he. "It was a necessity forced upon me by circumstance."

"Really? And what, pray, was this unfortunate circumstance that drove you from your bed?"

"A large and noisy cockerel by the name of Roger."

I tried and failed to suppress the smirk that crept relentlessly across my face.

"I can honestly say, without fear of contradiction," said he, "that I was awake at cock crow. No sooner had dawn appeared than Roger started his performance."

"How inconsiderate," I commiserated.

"He then woke the cows, who then woke the farmer, who then put on a hefty pair of boots and took a morning constitutional about the house, which involved walking up and down the stairs with an extremely heavy footfall at least a dozen times."

I must confess that I did start to chuckle at this litany of woe.

"You may find it amusing, Watson," said he, "but in the end I found I could do no better than to follow the excellent example set me and rise from my bed and take to my heels."

"And your walk has given you an appetite?"

Mrs Tweedle chose that moment to set a laden plate before me. To describe it as hearty would have been to do the breakfast a grave injustice. Three thick sausages, several rashers of bacon, three fried eggs, a heap of mushrooms and a sizeable chunk of black pudding vied for space on the plate, and all swimming in an ocean of grease.

Holmes beheld this offering with a decidedly queasy look on his face. "You aren't seriously going to eat that?" said he.

"I'll do my best."

"Yes, I'm sure you will. Oh, Mrs Tweedle?" said he, as the formidable cook slapped two steaming mugs down on the table in front of us. "Just toast for me, thank you."

"Just toast?" she echoed. "My Albert wouldn't last a day on a measly breakfast like that. I know what, I'll do you som'at a bit special, my love, don't you fear."

She bustled away back to the range, leaving Holmes with an expression of dismay. "Why does that worry me?"

"What?"

"The threat of 'something special'?"

"Holmes, how you can sit there and ask for such a paltry meal when we're in the heart of the country I'll never know. When in Rome, my dear fellow."

"But we aren't in Rome," said he, quite correctly. "And if we were, I doubt we would be having eggs, bacon, black pudding and all the trimmings."

"Well, you don't know what you're missing," said I, between mouthfuls. "This is delicious."

He took up his mug and delicately sipped the contents, only to set it down again with a sigh. "You don't suppose Mrs Tweedle has coffee, do you? This tea is a trifle weak."

His chance came to inquire with the cook's return. A slice, or rather a wedge from where it had been hacked from the rest of the loaf, of coarse-grained bread, charred on one side, smeared with white fat on the other, was set down in front of him, much I must say to the interest of our breakfast fellows.

"I've put a nice bit of dripping on it for you. That'll keep you going till lunchtime, my love." She gave him a fond pat on the shoulder before departing. "Now, you want any more, you just call for Mrs Tweedle."

Holmes eyed this offering as though he expected it to leap from the plate and attack him. "I suppose," said he with a faint smile, "that it would be ungracious to ask for marmalade?"

The absurdity of it struck us and we both laughed out loud. A wide-eyed, wet-tongued Border Collie came to Holmes' rescue and hungrily consumed this rejected meal while Mrs Tweedle had her back turned.

"So," I inquired at length, "what are our plans for today?"

"Visit the house," Holmes said languidly, "interview Miss Hopkirk – the usual routine, Watson. I dare say we will not be delayed in Cumbria for too long."

"You've made up your mind already?" said I in amazement. "I thought you never theorised without data?"

"It seems obvious to me that there are only two possible explanations. One, that Mrs Randall was murdered. Two, that her death was an accident. If the first, then I doubt the delectable Miss Hopkirk has either the temperament or the intelligence for such a deed and can thus be ruled out, in which case another suspect must be found. If the second, then we can leave by tomorrow."

"You believe her to be innocent then?"

He gave me a tolerant smile. "You've met the young lady. Would you say that she fits the bill as a cold-hearted murderess?"

"No."

"Well, then. Accident or murder by person or persons unknown."

I watched Holmes sip bird-like at his tea and the thought crossed my mind that there was more to this reasoning than the application of severe logic alone.

"She made quite an impression on you, didn't she?" I remarked, deciding that the truth of the matter was worth the risk of ridicule.

Holmes cast me a sideways glance. "Not at all. Whatever gave you that idea?"

"In all our cases together, I've never known you make up your mind so fast, and before you've even met the suspect."

"Ah, but I have met her."

"Over tea and under Mrs Hudson's watchful gaze."

"My dear friend, what you seem to be mistaking for some ghastly admiration of the lady in question was merely… merely…"

"Yes?" I prompted as he groped for the words.

"I was impressed by her candour, Watson, if you must know. She had a refreshing frankness about her that is most lamentably lacking in other members of her sex."

"And you're basing an assessment of her guilt or innocence on that?"

He considered this statement for a moment. "Yes," said he at last. "That and the fact that I cannot go back to Baker Street to tell Mrs Hudson that her beloved niece is a murderess." That said, his attention switched over to the window. "I believe we have a visitor, a country doctor unless I am much mistaken."

I followed his gaze to see a young fellow riding a mettlesome chestnut horse enter into the farmyard. His clothes were respectable and workmanlike, the tweed dappled with mud of various hues, and his hat crammed onto his head, suggesting it was either too small or there was a prevailing wind that had threatened to carry it away. His profession was readily marked out by the glimpse of a stethoscope I could see peeking out of his coat pocket.

A moment later, there was a knock at the door and the gentleman in question appeared, out of breath, smelling strongly of sweaty horses and laying down muddy tracks on the already grimy kitchen floor. He glanced at the gathering clustered around the table and finally settled on us.

"Mr Sherlock Holmes?" said he, looking my direction.

I gestured to my friend opposite.

"My name, sir," said Holmes. "And you are?"

"Dr Cuddy," said he. "Dr Cuthbert Cuddy. I'm the local doctor in these parts."

"Naturally. Won't you take a seat?"

He pulled the battered hat from his head revealing an unruly crop of curly brown hair and settled himself into the single wooden chair at the head of the table nearest to us. Mrs Tweedle bestowed upon him the most gracious of smiles and brought him a mug of tea.

"I heard you had arrived last night and was of a mind to ride out, but what with the rain and one of the guests at a hotel in town coming down with appendicitis, I have had to delay my visit."

"Quite so," said Holmes. "And the nature of your business?"

"Well, it's why you're here."

"You've come all this way to find that out?"

The young man's face flushed a vivid red. "Well, I mean, that is to say, I was wondering –"

"Dr Cuddy, I'm sure you are a busy man as am I. Please state the nature of your business, sir."

"It's my fiancée," he blurted out. "Miss Emily Hopkirk. That's why you're here, isn't it?"

Holmes glanced at me and raised an eyebrow. So this was Miss Hopkirk's 'young man' as Mrs Hudson had described him. Clearly there had been developments in the few weeks since our meeting if the fellow was so bold as to declare their engagement publicly.

"That is to say," he went on, "my intended fiancée. You see, I was going to ask her and now this has happened and I don't know how. What am I to do?"

"If you're asking us for guidance in the art of proposing, Doctor, then I would observe that between us we are singularly unqualified to advise you on the matter."

"Oh, no, that's not it at all," he said, growing ever more flustered by Holmes' nonchalant manner. "She's been accused of murder. Surely you've heard? I sent word to her aunt, your landlady, I believe?"

"Which is why we are here. Why don't you tell us," said Holmes, taking a cigarette from his case and lighting it, "why you believe your fiancée to be innocent?"

"Because she's the sweetest, kindest, loveliest girl in the neighbourhood. I do declare upon my word that she is incapable of even the thought of murder, let alone the actual deed of which she stands accused."

"Which is?"

"They say she pushed Mrs Randall down the stairs."

"For what reason?"

He shook his head. "I do not know. All I have been told is that the household was awakened by a scream and when they went to investigate, Mrs Randall was found at the bottom of the stairs and Emily – Miss Hopkirk, I mean – was standing over her."

Holmes snorted. "I see we are set against formidable opponents in this game of wits, Watson. The local constabulary have acted within their usual limits and opted to arrest the first person on the scene. What makes them think this was not simply an accident?"

"Because of the twine, Mr Holmes."

"Twine?"

"At the top of the stairs, sir. A tripwire had been stretched across to catch Mrs Randall unawares."

"But who is to say that Miss Hopkirk set this trap?" I asked.

"She was the last to bed," said Dr Cuddy. "But I swear upon my honour as a gentleman that she would never do such a thing. Please, Mr Holmes, you must help her."

"Naturally, since I am here, I will do all that I can." He considered for a moment, letting a thin stream of blue smoke pass between his lips. "Mrs Randall, you were her attending physician?"

"Yes, for the past two years, since I took over the practice from old Dr Bristow."

"And what of her condition?"

"Most complex," said he. "It defied all medical reasoning. In fact, I was making a study of the case for publication in a medical journal in the hope that someone might be able to suggest a cure for the poor lady."

"What were her symptoms?" I asked with interest.

"An extreme disinclination to eat or even drink was the main characteristic of her ailment, leading to a general wasting. Mrs Randall was very weak as one would expect, and complained of debilitating headaches that would affect her co-ordination and caused sensory impairment."

"And were these symptoms always present?"

Dr Cuddy shook his head. "No, that's the strange thing. The condition would wax and wane. Some days, Mrs Randall was quite well, on others greatly vexed."

"Most curious," said I. "Were neurological causes considered?"

"Extensively. In fact," said he, somewhat guiltily, "I must confess that I had begun to suspect the lady was a little neurotic and several of the London specialists I believe had come to the same conclusion. They confided their findings to me, although we agreed that this should be kept from the Admiral."

"Ah, yes, the elusive Admiral Sir James Randall, of whom we have heard very little," said Holmes.

"He's a kind enough gentleman," said Dr Cuddy. "Very devoted to his wife. It was on his insistence that she was attended by the specialists."

Holmes drummed his fingertips on the table. "It is time we began our investigations into this matter," said he, rising to his feet. "Where can one hire a trap?"

"Oh, you won't get one today," said the doctor, "what with it being a Sunday and all the sightseers in town."

"How far to walk then to the house where this incident took place?"

"About seven or eight miles, I'd say."

"Horseback?"

"Probably your best option. I believe Mrs Tweedle's husband has several hacks that may be available."

"By Mr Tweedle's horses it is, then."

Dr Cuddy got up and nervously fiddled with the limp brim of his hat. "It's a fair clip from here, Mr Holmes. I'd be glad to show you the way."

"Capital," said he. "We'll be ready shortly, Doctor. That is, Watson, if you've quite finished your breakfast."

A clean plate lay before me and a full stomach strained at my trouser buttons, and it was all I could to nod.

"Would you be so good as to inquire of Mr Tweedle about the hire of his horses?" said Holmes to our new acquaintance. "Oh, and you'd better ask for a sturdy fellow for Dr Watson here, considering the meal he has just eaten."

Dr Cuddy grinned. "Mrs Tweedle's breakfasts are the talk of Cumbria," said he.

"Oh, you're a one," said she, beaming at his praise as she came over at hearing her name. "It's like I always say, breakfast is the most important meal of the morning." She let out a cackle of laughter. "Will you gentlemen be returning for lunch?"

For myself, I sincerely doubted whether I would ever need to eat again. Holmes graciously declined on both our behalfs and sent Dr Cuddy on his way to prepare our mounts.

"Well, Watson?" said he, when we were alone once more. "What do you make of him?"

"A fine enough young fellow," said I. "As I remember, you thought him 'a little too good to be genuine'."

Holmes bridled slightly at my implied criticism. "I may have been somewhat hasty in my judgement."

"Then you are fallible."

"Yes, I suppose I must be," said he with a forlorn sigh. "In which case, I must admit my ignorance and turn to you, my dear Watson, for today's forecast?"

I chuckled at this submission. "Rain later. Take an umbrella, Holmes."

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_Reviews welcomed and very much appreciated!_


	3. III: At Chatham House

_**The Adventure of the Admiral's Wife**_

**III: At Chatham House**

I could only assume that Dr Cuddy had taken Holmes at his word in his choice of my steed, for I was presented with a sturdy, shaggy piebald beast with a large grass belly around which the girth strained to retain its hold on the saddle buckles. So round was the horse that my legs struggled to make contact with its sides, something not conducive to either a comfortable ride or the persuasion of forward impulsion.

As it was, I had to settle for a placid amble some distance behind Holmes on a raw-boned grey gelding and Dr Cuddy's excitable chestnut mare, which seemed overly vexed by our slow pace. By the time we reached Windermere, it had worked itself up into a sweaty state and flexed its sides with foam from its ever-grinding jaws, increasing Dr Cuddy's sense of nervousness to the point where he had to dismount and make profuse apologies for his poor horsemanship and inability to continue.

He did however give us the directions to our destination and said that he would try to join us as soon as both he and his mount had sufficiently calmed down.

"Do not trouble yourself, Doctor," said Holmes. "I'm sure we'll manage well enough."

His confidence was not misplaced. The morning air was slowly warming, a refreshing change after the misery of recent city life with its almost continuous rain. Our horses settled into a comfortable pace and we covered the several remaining miles in affable conversation.

For myself, I could only ascribe my sense of well being to the beauty of the countryside. Everywhere I looked was a pleasing aspect as we skirted the edge of the lake to reach the home of Admiral Sir James Randall, aptly named Chatham House after the Kent naval docks. Even Holmes seemed strangely relaxed, as though the sense of peace to be found in this tranquil place was having a similar and equally beneficial effect on him.

From his few questions, however, I was aware that this outward projection of calm hid a burning desire to gather data in order to answer this mystery as soon as humanly possible. As at ease as he may have seemed in these surroundings, sat straight-backed in the saddle with his gaze turned to the sweeping hills, I knew him to be a creature of the city, more at home amidst the smog and grim of London than this rural idyll.

For my part, I could have happily continued this trek all day, albeit on a somewhat more comfortable mount, but soon enough we reached our destination. The road turned away from the waterside and branched off down a drive which led the way to an imposing grey-stone mansion set on a hillside above the lake.

As we climbed, the views grew ever more superb. Down below us, small boats with their sails unfurled bobbed on the sparkling waters. On the far hills, grazing sheep were little more than puffs of white against the emerald green of the grass.

So lost was I in my rapture that it quite escaped me that Holmes was no longer riding at my side. Noticing his absence, I turned back to find that his horse was stood by the roadside, its reins dangling and the saddle empty.

My first thought was that he had fallen and I left my mount to hurry back to investigate. He was indeed on the floor, but seemingly by his own choice. I found him with his magnifier in his hand, examining a plant with purple-blue blooms and a single straight stem.

"Holmes?" I inquired. "Why have you stopped?"

He plucked a specimen and held it out to me. "What do you make of it, Watson?"

I took it from him, but could make nothing of it. "Very pretty."

He got to his feet and brushed mud from his knees where he had knelt on the damp ground. "Do you know what it is?"

"Some sort of wild flower."

"The heath pea, in fact. I forget its Latin name. No matter, it will come back to me."

I was used to being surprised by Holmes' sudden flashes of seemingly irrelevant information and waited for him to enlighten me. When he appeared reluctant to share his knowledge, I had to prompt him for a response.

"It thrives in areas of poor grazing and heath land," said he in a rather off-hand manner. "I believe it also has a preference for alkaline soil; however, on that, I may be mistaken."

Perhaps it was the combination of saddle-soreness, an over-generous breakfast and too much fresh air that was making me somewhat slower that morning, but I had to admit that I still did not see the relevance in this statement.

"Nothing in particular," said he, still maintaining his air of disinterest. "Just a passing interest of mine."

His manner was starting to vex me. "Holmes, nothing with you is ever a passing interest. You've just given me a flower, apparently for no good reason."

He grinned back at me. "Don't get too excited, Watson. I was merely admiring the local flora. Fascinating, don't you think?"

"Well, yes. But I was always under the impression that you considered such things as mere trivial distractions."

"Ah, yes, what was it again? _'Knowledge of Botany – Variable. Knows nothing of practical gardening'_."

There were times when I rued the day I had ever committed to paper some definition of my friend's limits. He had never told me how he knew of the existence of that list, except that he alluded to it when he thought he could use the knowledge of my chagrin over the matter to win the upper hand in a discussion. As it happened, I was to firmly quash his advantage in this little war of ours by including it in my account of our meeting and first ever case together. After that, he never referred to it again.

For now, however, some years before that story was published, I had to grin and bear this needling.

"Very well," said I. "I concede that you have a certain rudimentary knowledge of wild plants. So what is it about this one that made you go to the effort of dismounting and examining it in minute detail?"

Instead of an answer, he sighed audibly with a great deal of satisfaction and made a show of stretching out his aching back. "What a bracing spot, Doctor. One can see why a naval man would choose to live in such a place."

"I should have thought a seaside town would have been more in keeping."

"Perhaps," said he thoughtfully. "But even the sturdiest of ships must one day seek a safe harbour. Here one has the joy of the water without the endless ocean beyond. From vastness to containment. The Admiral has contracted his world."

I studied him, glimpsing the works of his mind in the tightness around his eyes, and wondered where this line of reasoning was leading.

"Are you going to tell me?" I finally asked.

He started from his reverie. "My dear fellow, you must forgive me. I fear I have been rambling somewhat."

"Yes, you have."

"Well, then you must blame this fine scenery. I am quite intoxicated by its beauty."

I fancied I saw the briefest of smiles come to his face, which only led me to believe that he had some deeper motive, which he was not yet ready to share. In such cases, I have always found pressing him for details to be counter-productive. His answers become increasingly elusive until I cannot remember what prompted the line of questioning in the first place.

I left him to his musings as we continued up the remainder of the avenue on foot until we came to the carriage front of the house. A knock on the door brought a maid to greet us and a groom to take our steeds. Inside, the house was spacious and bright, its sizable east-facing windows making the most of the morning light, and only the sombre mood of the servant who took our hats gave any indication of the tragedy that had occurred here.

Presently, we were shown into a study, which immediately produced an impression of claustrophobia after the emptiness of the hall. Books crowded every surface, on shelves, in cabinets and piled in stacks on the floor. The sizable desk groaned under the weight of assorted titles, behind which was seated Admiral Sir James Randall.

From what little I could see of him, his weather-beaten face attested to long years spent at sea, as did the numerous models of ships scattered about the room in glass cases, rendered in meticulous and loving detail. His age I judged to be in his early sixties, despite the fact of his mutton-chop whiskers and grizzled hair giving him the appearance of a man much older.

By applying Holmes' own methods, I also gathered he was somewhat infirm, evidenced by the walking stick I could see propped up against his chair. Other than that, however, I was at a loss.

"Mr Sherlock Holmes?" said the venerable gentleman, squinting with difficulty at the calling card. "I have heard your name, sir, but the reason for your visit is somewhat of a mystery to me."

"I am here concerning the matter of your sad loss, Sir James," said Holmes.

Puzzlement furrowed the Admiral's brow. "You were acquainted with my wife?"

"No."

"Ah, I had thought not. My wife was a country girl at heart and her town friends were few in number. But then what is your interest, sir? Are you acting in some amateur capacity for the police?"

Mention of his name in the same breath as that of the official forces was usually tantamount to provocation. Whether it was, as he claimed, that his surroundings had had a beneficial effect on his mood, Holmes' response was certainly more muted than I would have expected.

"My interest is in justice, Sir James," said he. "Certain doubts have been expressed to me about Miss Hopkirk's guilt in the matter and I am bound to put those questions to the test."

Sir James sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers. "Personally, Mr Holmes, I do not share those doubts, nor, might I add, do the police. They have their suspect in custody and are satisfied as to her role in the death of my wife, yet by your arrogant assumption, you would strive to have her released. Are we all then to be murdered in our beds by our servants, who shall have little fear of recrimination if but some minor doubt be allowed? _'Fiat justitia et pereat mundus'_."

"'Let justice be done, though the world perish'," I translated, rather pointlessly as it transpired for I perceived that Holmes already knew the allusion.

"I should hardly think it will come to that, Sir James," said he, smiling thinly. "It is however a tenet of mine that the innocent should not suffer for the crimes of others. That, I'm sure, we can at least agree on."

This statement was duly considered and tacit assent bestowed. "Well, then, we are in your hands, Mr Holmes. I take it therefore that you have questions?"

"Indeed. Might I ask for your account of the events of that night?"

"There is little enough to tell. By the time I had reached the scene, the deed was done."

"Then pray describe what you saw and anything else you may remember."

"Very little, I'm afraid. I was in my bed and was awoken by the sound of a scream from upstairs. I left my room to investigate and found my wife dead at the bottom of the stairs with that wretch of a girl standing over her. By then, the rest of the household was awakened and the culprit detained at my instruction before she could make her escape."

I interjected. "Your bedroom is on the ground floor, sir?"

"Out of necessity, I'm afraid. I find the stairs too much of a strain since my accident."

He paused, regarding me with interest until it dawned upon us both that Holmes had yet to make the necessary introductions.

"Forgive me, Sir James," said he. "This is my friend and colleague, Dr Watson, who has been good enough to take the time to accompany me in the pursuit of this business."

"Ah, a medical man," said Sir James. "Would that you had been here when my poor wife was alive. She suffered much with her health and all the doctors in London could not find the cause."

"So I understand, sir," said I. "You have my condolences."

He nodded. "A sad affliction bravely borne, as the saying has it. Never once did I hear her complain. She was the sweetest woman that ever drew God's breath. To meet such an unjust end at the hands of one to whom she had shown only kindness must surely make the angels weep."

"Regrettable as you say," murmured Holmes. "This twine found on the stairs…"

"A tripwire," Sir James corrected him. "Sergeant Beamish found the remains of it when he arrived."

"Indeed. Then why did you believe Miss Hopkirk to be implicated in your wife's death if you did not know about this singular discovery at the time? If you don't mind me saying, Sir James, that seems to have been a rather hasty assumption on your part."

Clearly Sir James did very much mind Holmes saying this, for his face flushed near purple. For myself, I will readily admit that this appalling lack of tact on my friend's part made me cringe with embarrassment.

"You were not there, sir!" he fairly bellowed. "You were not witness to that villainess standing over my poor wife nor to that terrible look of guilt upon her face when she realised I was there. It is true I did not know about the tripwire, but at that moment it was my honest belief that she had pushed her mistress down the stairs."

"Why? What was her motive?"

"Theft, sir! She had stolen a sapphire brooch I had given my wife as an anniversary present. When her crime was discovered, she sought to silence her accuser forever."

"This brooch, you knew about the theft?"

Sir James shook his head. "It was found amongst her things by the police. What else were we to think but that she had taken it unlawfully?"

"And the reason she claimed for having it?"

"She said my wife gave it to her as a gift," said Sir James with a contemptuous snort. "She is nothing but a liar and thief turned murderess! What do you have to say to that, Mr Holmes?"

It was a challenge, and one to which I had to wonder whether he had any adequate reply. Here were facts to which we had not been made privy. Despite her family connection to our estimable landlady making the thing seem almost impossible, even I had to admit that the case against Miss Hopkirk appeared to be most credible.

"It is a most interesting problem," said Holmes, diplomatically. "Would you have any objections, Sir James, if I inspected the scene of this unfortunate incident?"

"Be my guest," said he, with a non-committal shrug. "And much good may it do you."

"Then we will bid you good day, sir, and leave you to your studies. The later Stuart period is indeed a most fascinating one."

Sir James peered up at him. "However did you know that was my area of expertise?"

Holmes gestured to the books. "You have a fine collection, most of which date from the mid to late seventeenth century. You are clearly an antiquarian and a scholar, or why else would you surround yourself by such obscure and rare volumes."

"Well, well, so it is true what they say about you, Mr Holmes. Yes, what you say is quite correct. In fact, I am preparing a monograph on the reign of Charles II. My interest has been a long one. I began my naval career at a tender age and filled those days at sea when my time was not occupied by reading whatever I could lay my hands upon. Many of these books I collected on my travels. Each speaks to me of a voyage, of adventure and warm exotic climes."

"And yet you have chosen to settle in Cumbria."

I sensed that Holmes was probing perhaps too deeply, for Sir James regarded him with pursed lips and more than a little suspicion in his eyes.

"Speak plainly, Mr Holmes," said he. "I have nothing to hide. You will find no skeletons from my past to bring to bear against me."

"I'm sure we did not mean to imply such a thing," said I quickly. "I myself have wondered why so decorated and respected a sea-faring man would choose to bury himself away so far from the ocean."

"Because I despise it, Doctor," came his blunt reply. "I gave my life to the rolling waves and was thrown back to land less than a man."

With effort, he took up his stick and forced himself to a standing position. Slowly and, as I perceived, in a great deal of pain, he limped heavily around from behind the desk to stand hunched before us.

"Ten years ago, I was supervising a training exercise. A gun exploded. Five men were killed outright and ten others wounded. I was among the casualties. They did what they could, but I was left as you see me now. A man in the prime of his life, forced into retirement. But in every ending, there is a beginning. I came here and fell in love. I abandoned the sea as she had abandoned me and found a new happiness here with my books and my wife."

"Thank you for your candour, sir," said I when Holmes refrained from replying. "We will trouble you no more."

He grunted at this and made his stumbling, halting way back to the safety of his chair, leaning heavily on his stick and the side of the desk as he did so.

"I would wish you good luck, gentlemen," said he, easing himself down into the seat. "But your misguided mission is doomed to failure. The girl will be found guilty and will hang for her crime. Then will justice be done. Good day."

He went back to his books, bringing our interview to a closure. We left him to his studies and found ourselves back in the hallway, to the rear of which was the imposing staircase. Holmes was lost in thought for a moment, before suddenly taking his glass from his pocket and proceeding to conduct an investigation of the stairs.

I positioned myself at the bottom step and waited for him to pronounce his opinion. From where I stood, I could still make out a dark stain on the wood of the lowermost step that attested to the tragedy that had occurred here.

Evidently Holmes had found even less than I, for he returned with a heavily furrowed brow and a tightness of expression that he reserved for the most complex of cases.

"There is a slight indentation in the wood at the bottom of the newel posts at the top of the stairs. I would say that a thin wire has been secured around them, which was then violently pulled tight and snapped, as one would expect if Mrs Randall had caught her foot in such a trap. The method then is clear enough. But the motive…"

He tapped his glass against his teeth.

"What do you make of him, this Admiral who quotes Latin at us and professes to despise his former calling?"

"Surely you do not suspect him. Holmes, be reasonable. However do you suggest he climbed the stairs to attach that wire? He can barely walk. And what was his motive? He clearly had a deep affection for his wife."

A moment elapsed while Holmes considered. "Watson," he said at last. "This case is not clear to me."

"You are still convinced that Miss Hopkirk is innocent?"

"Are you?"

"No," I confessed. "I have to admit that the case against her seems pretty watertight."

"Then we must question the lady," said he. "But first the servants. Let us see what is whispered below stairs about this strange business."

* * *

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	4. IV: The Word below Stairs

_**The Adventure of the Admiral's Wife**_

**IV: The Word below Stairs**

At Holmes' behest, the few members of the household staff were duly gathered in the kitchen to await his questioning. Not unexpectedly, it came as no surprise that in a house of this moderate size, several roles were performed by the same person.

Bates the groom, whom we had already met, doubled as the gardener when his services at the stables were not required. Lean and weather-beaten, he stood in stark contrast to his rotund and rosy-cheeked wife, Mrs Bates, the Randall's erstwhile cook and housekeeper. The full complement of the staff was complete with the arrival of Mabel, the young maid, who had met us at the door.

By all accounts, they were still very much in shock by the events, especially Mrs Bates, who constantly dabbed at her eyes with a large red-and-white spotted handkerchief.

"It's a terrible, terrible thing," said she. "I knew her, Mrs Randall, when she was knee-high to a grasshopper. All curls and freckles she was, a sweet little lass. Ain't that right, Jeffrey?"

Her husband nodded in agreement.

"A dear little thing she was. Always had a kind word for everyone. Nothing was ever too much trouble. She was the happiest girl in Cumbria on her wedding day. Head over heels in love, she was."

"Indeed," said Holmes, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table as a gesture of his interest. "How did they come to meet, do you know?"

"Well," said she, clearly warming to her subject, "it was at one of those winter balls in Kendal, it were. Mind, I'm not one for gossip."

"Naturally. Pray, do continue."

"The Admiral, he'd only just taken this house, and if you ask me, he was looking for a wife to make his life up here complete. The mistress caught his eye and he would have her. Of course," said she, almost confidentially, "they do say as how he was disappointed in love when he was a young man. That's why he never married before."

"Do they now?"

"But I'm not one for gossip. Jeffrey will tell you that."

The noble fellow again nodded in confirmation of his wife's statement.

"He went off to sea and she went off with his best friend, so they say. There's some say as how he never got over it, but how can that be the case when him and Mrs Randall were so happy? Why, he was kindness itself to the mistress. Never was a man so devoted. Isn't that right, Jeffrey?"

The inevitable nod followed. It seemed to me that Mrs Bates had her husband very well trained in the art of agreement.

"And when she got ill, oh, sir, quite devastated he was. Sent for all the London specialists he did, little good they were. Said it were all in her mind. But how can that be? The mistress was never one for them fainting fits or the suchlike as them high-born ladies have. She was as right as rain until she entered this house."

She cast an almost fearful glance up at the ceiling as if she expected to see the very shadow of death creeping from the cobweb-hung recesses.

"I could have told 'em what it was. This house, it's evil, sir. I should like to leave with what's happened and all, but the master, sir, he won't have it. And then there's the wages…"

"I quite understand," said Holmes, his manner reverting to that particular sympathetic tack that he found produced results when dealing with ladies of a certain age. "Although, from what I have been told, Mrs Randall's health had been improved of late."

"Well, it's the sun, sir. It drives the demons away."

"It that so," said Holmes, feigning polite interest. "I take it her health improved around the same time every year?"

"Regular as clockwork. Comes the hungry months afore the harvest, and she was back to her old self." Mrs Bates sighed in happy remembrance. "I'll tell you this, sir, it was a good thing to see her looking so bonny. She was eating and not looking so pale and wasted. We had a ball here last weekend and the house was full of people. You should have seen her dancing, sir; it was a joy to behold."

"But not dancing with the Admiral, surely?"

"Why, bless you, sir, no. His legs play him up something dreadful, poor man. Mrs Randall, she used to ease his pains when her own health was up to it. A saint, that girl was, taking him on when anyone else would have stood up for their marital rights. But I'm not one for idle gossip, whatever anyone else says."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Holmes glance briefly in my direction. Clearly, something about that last statement had interested him.

"Now," said he, "what was your impression of Miss Hopkirk?"

Mrs Bates was torn for an answer, since her usual volubility seemed to have deserted her. Instead it fell to the maid to reply.

"It's wickedness what they're saying about her," the girl said, her words half choked by a sob. "She would never have hurt the mistress, nor stolen from her."

"Calm yourself, child," said Mrs Bates. "I told you, it's this house."

"You don't believe Miss Hopkirk guilty then?"

"No, sir, I don't," said she. "And neither does Mr Bates. Ain't that right, Jeffrey?"

This time she did not wait for Mr Bates to faithfully concur.

"You see, sir, Mrs Randall, she were little more than a girl when she married the Admiral. Nineteen she were and fresh as a daisy. Then they came up here and, well, there's not too much in the way of company, so she got Miss Hopkirk as her maid, like, only they were so similar in age that they were more like friends. And Miss Hopkirk was so good to her, sir, when she was ill. I can't believe it."

"Were you present when the discovery of the body was made?"

"That I was, sir. See, Miss Hopkirk had her room next to the mistress', so she could tend her in the night if she was taken poorly. Me and Mr Bates, and Mabel here live in the annex, just off the kitchen."

"And the Admiral is also on the ground floor."

"Quite right, sir. Anyhow, by the time we got there, Mrs Randall was dead at the bottom of the stairs, her head all bloody and broken, and the Admiral yelling blue murder at Miss Hopkirk. Then when Sergeant Beamish found that wire at the top of the stairs, he says it could only have been put there by Miss Hopkirk. But we know who really did it."

She tapped the side of her nose in the age-old gesture of a confidence kept.

"Pray, enlighten us," said Holmes.

Mrs Bates leant forward as much as her size would allow and lowered her voice. "Ghosts," she whispered. "It were them as put the brooch in Miss Hopkirk's drawer an' all. To implicate her, like, poor lass."

A faint smile brushed Holmes' lips. "Ghosts, you say? And why would they wish to kill Mrs Randall?"

"Because she were happy, sir. They don't like people to be happy. That's why they made her so ill."

"But tell me, Mrs Bates, why would they go to so much trouble as to stretch a tripwire across the stairs when they could have just as easily pushed her?"

"They stole it from my shed, that's why," said Mr Bates. "That was 'em telling me that som'at bad was going to happen."

Whether it was what he said or the sheer shock of discovering that Mr Bates was actually possessed of a voice, both of us were slow in responding to this bold assertion.

"Stole it, you say?" said Holmes finally. "When was this?"

"I'd be reckoning it were 'bout a week ago. I use it in the garden to secure the peas and the suchlike. Yep, 'bout a week ago, the whole reel went missing. Then it turns up again this morning. That's 'em letting me know what they'd been up to."

Holmes took a moment to consider this. "Have you told the police this?"

Mr Bates shook his head. "Ain't had the chance, sir. You reckon that's important, like?"

"Possibly," said he, somewhat absently. "Never mind, Mr Bates, our next call will be at the police station in Windermere to visit Miss Hopkirk. We will inform them of your discovery."

"But she ain't there, sir," said Mrs Bates, reasserting her dominant role as the provider of information. "They took her to Kendal, sir, to stand before the magistrates on the morrow."

"Then to Kendal we must go."

Holmes rose abruptly to his feet.

"Thank you for your time," said he to the threesome. "Mr Bates, would you be so kind as to ready our horses?"

With the interview at an end, the household staff went about their duties, Mr Bates to the stables, and the maid to collect our things. Out in the pleasantly warm morning sunshine, Holmes sighed with the satisfaction of a man for whom the world is an open book of ready answers.

"You have evidently come to your conclusion," I observed, knowing his habits of old.

"Almost," said he. "But, come, Watson, tell me your thoughts on the subject."

In all honesty, I did not know where to begin. The whole affair seemed more tangled now than when we first began.

"I should like to hear Miss Hopkirk's account of how she came by that brooch," I ventured.

"Capital!" said Holmes. "Yes, that seems to be the most damning evidence against her, as flimsy and circumstantial as it is."

"What about the tripwire?"

"What about it? I have yet to get a straight answer concerning it. Dr Cuddy tells me it was twine, Sir James tells me wire, and Mrs Bates tells me that ghosts put it there!"

He gave a snort of laughter.

"If there were prizes for the most appalling series of blunders in the course of any one case, then this must surely win them all. I am most looking forward to meeting this Sergeant Beamish, if only to see for my own eyes if he really is as stupid as everyone paints him."

The sound of hooves on the gravel drive heralded the return of our mounts, and I took charge of the reins of my less than impressive beast with a certain amount of reluctance. A long absence from the saddle had made my return to it less than enjoyable in terms of aching muscles and I was in no hurry to have to try to wrap my legs around that wide piebald belly again.

Holmes too seemed content to walk rather than to ride and we proceeded in this fashion down the drive until we met Dr Cuddy, coming in the other direction, finally having managed to tame his prancing mare.

"Good day, sirs," trilled he. "As you see, I have been as good as my word and finally caught up with you."

He leapt from the saddle with an enthusiasm that sent his battered hat flying. His foot went down on it to pin it to the ground, only to add another mark to its already tatty surface.

"Have you met Sir James?" he inquired, pressing the felt back down on his head. "Is he still firm in his opinion of Miss Hopkirk's guilt?"

"More so than ever," remarked Holmes.

Dr Cuddy's expression dropped. "I feared as much. Sir James is much respected around here. Sergeant Beamish is far too ready to take his word for it as to what happened that night."

"About Sir James," said Holmes, idly rubbing his mount's grey nose. "What was the nature of his injury?"

"I fear I cannot say," said Dr Cuddy, his face flushing with embarrassment.

"Or will not tell us? Come, doctor, we are not gossip-mongers. A girl's life may depend upon it."

"Still, I cannot break a confidence."

"Very well," said Holmes with a sigh. "There is, as they say, more than one way to skin a cat. May I at least ask a favour of you, Dr Cuddy?"

"Certainly."

"The use of your fine chestnut mare for today. This beast of Watson's is sturdy but slow, and I wish to reach Kendal before midnight."

"Why, of course, if you can handle her."

"I believe I can manage," said Holmes, reaching for the reins. "Watson can have my horse."

So saying, he hoisted himself up into the saddle. The mare immediately gave a half-buck and tried to unseat him, but he sat firm, despite her agitated stepping on the spot.

"Well, Watson, shall we go?" said he. "A brisk canter should see us in Kendal in time for lunch. Thank you, Dr Cuddy. If you would return that hairy beast to the Tweedles, we shall meet you back there later."

The grey gelding was a much more willing prospect and required the lightest of touches to prompt a move, which was something of a welcome relief after the effort required to elicit a response from my previous mount. All the same, I still trailed behind Holmes as we set out on the road at a fairly flying pace to Kendal where we hoped to find Miss Hopkirk and question her about the strange events surrounding her mistress' death.

* * *

_Continued in Chapter V._

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	5. V: Lunch in Kendal

_**The Adventure of the Admiral's Wife**_

**V: Lunch in Kendal**

A stiff ride of some ten miles brought us into the pleasant market town of Kendal just in time for lunch. Rows of grey limestone buildings lined the narrow, twisting streets that led into the centre, where houses gave way to shops, each with inviting windows.

This being Sunday with all but the inns closed, all we were permitted, along with the many visitors and hikers in the town, was to stare with childlike curiosity at their wares and to wonder at the taste of that Kendal speciality, the mint cake which bares its name.

On the crest of a hill above the town was perched the ruins of castle, said to have been the birthplace of that most fortunate of Henry VIII's queens, Catherine Parr, who survived to outlive that aged and infamous monarch. Now in the afternoon sunshine, the remnants of the crumbling castle brooded over the town below, reflecting on times of glory past when its walls rang to the sound of the war-trumpet, not to the laughs of modern-day visitors.

All this was of course quite lost on Holmes, who paid little attention to my loquacious ramblings about the history of our surroundings. With the fire finally burned out of his mount, we were able to amble into the town centre at a placid walk, much to the relief of my aching legs and querulous war wound.

Our first port of call was to the police station, where we had been told Miss Hopkirk was incarcerated, pending her appearance before the magistrate the following day. Much to Holmes' evident annoyance, the duty sergeant had taken himself home for his Sunday dinner and we found the door firmly locked. A fluttering note informed the public at large that the station would be open again in the afternoon.

"How anyone survives in these places is beyond me," said Holmes, irritably.

"It is Sunday," I reminded him.

"Even so, to abandon the good people of Kendal to their fate while the official representative of law and order goes to his tea, strikes me as being somewhat callous. What would happen now if the forces of chaos were to descend upon the town?"

I glanced about at the sleepy lanes. "I don't think that's really likely."

Holmes snorted. "Perhaps not. But it does impede our investigation."

"Well, we could do worse than to go to lunch. I noticed an inn as we came through town. And we have had a very busy morning. You have not had a bite to eat since yesterday afternoon."

His attention had wandered and it took a call of his name to bring him back to his senses. "If you require sustenance, my dear fellow, then why of course. I must confess that I too am feeling the pangs of hunger."

"I'm glad that you agree. Our ride this morning has given me quite an appetite."

"That does amaze me," said he, bestowing upon me his best sideways glance. "Considering the hearty breakfast in which you indulged."

"Ah, but one must eat well when one is in the country. It's the air, you know. It's good for the digestion."

"But not the waistband. Well, if eat you must, then let us divert to the inn of your choosing and while away our time until the village bobby returns."

It seemed as though a good many of the other visitors to Kendal were of the same mind, for we found the first inn packed to overflowing. A little down the road was another, equally inviting establishment, that went by the name of _The Duke of Wellington_.

"Not a bad likeness, eh, Watson?" said Holmes, casting a deprecating eye over the rustic portrait of the Iron Duke that swung by the main door. "I dare say it does the gentleman justice enough."

He passed his reins to a waiting stable lad and strode ahead of me into the tavern, where we forsook daylight for a smoky gloom. Heavy age-stained oak beams supported the ceiling and the floors above, and divided the interior into compartments, each of which were filled with wary-eyed locals.

By the bar lounged a ruddy-faced middle-aged man in tweeds, looking considerably worse for wear, who regarded us with belligerent interest as we approached.

"Would I be correct in thinking," said he, waving a beer tankard in our general direction, "that that mare you rode in on belongs to none other than Dr Cuddy of Windermere?"

"Quite correct," said Holmes.

"Thought so. I'd recognise that chestnut rump anywhere. So the fellow's finally sold her, has he? Quite right too. I told him time and again that he was over-horsed. A mare like that needs a firm hand, know what I mean?"

Holmes shot me a brief glance tinged with amusement. "You are acquainted with Dr Cuddy then, sir," said he.

"I should jolly well say so. He's a good enough doctor, though a worse horseman I've yet to see. But what of you, sir? Your face is new about these parts."

"That is because we are merely visitors to this pleasant part of the country. I am Mr Sherlock Holmes and this is my friend and colleague, Dr Watson. Dr Cuddy was kind enough to lend us the use of his horse."

A broad grin plastered itself across his face as a murmur of surprise and interest went about the bar.

"Well, well, the London detective! Yes, local gossip had it that we had someone of import in our midst. Pleased to meet you, sir." He offered his hand in turn for us to shake. "The Honourable Freddie Effingham at your service," said he. "Landlord, a drink for my friends."

"You are too kind," said Holmes, diplomatically. "You will understand that our visit is not entirely for pleasurable purposes. We are here because of the recent death at Chatham House."

"Ah, yes, Mrs Randall. God rest her soul." He raised his tankard in silent salute and proceeded to drain it dry. "Good-looking woman, that."

"You know the Randalls?"

From behind his tankard, I saw a smirk lift the corners of his mouth. "You might say that." With the last of his beer consumed, he slapped the empty vessel down on the bar and called for a refill. "My family owns a fair amount of land in these parts, including the house which Old Randall rents."

"The Admiral is merely a tenant at Chatham House?" said I. "I understood he owned the place."

"The devil he does!" said Effingham. "Comes up here, splashing his money about like he owns the place. That sort of thing is liable to turn a young woman's head."

The landlord returned with our beers and placed before us several tankards filled with a decidedly cloudy-looking brew. A further discreet inquiry on my part informed us that tripe was on the menu that day, a dish of which I have never been partial, and so was forced to decline. Holmes had come to the same opinion about his beer and, after one cautious sip, set it aside and did not return to it.

Effingham, however, had no such reservations and raised his tankard with enthusiasm. Holmes made no attempt to press the subject of our interest, as the beer was loosening his tongue without any intervention from us at all.

"If truth be told, gentleman," Effingham went on, "a man like that had no business taking a wife. It's against nature, so it is."

"We were told they were a most devoted couple," said I.

Effingham laughed heartily. "Because he fawned and fussed after her when she went off on those fanciful illnesses of hers? I dare say it made him feel useful enough to make up for his deficiencies in other respects."

I noticed Holmes smile faintly at this statement, although to all other appearances his attention was wrapt in tracing with his finger the watermarks left by previous customers on the stained surface of the wooden bar counter.

For my part, I was rather incensed at hearing the Admiral defamed in so crudely a manner and challenged Effingham on the subject, which only made him laugh the harder.

"You mean our celebrated London detectives have not even discovered that yet?" guffawed he. "Why, it's common enough knowledge."

"Then pray enlighten us," said Holmes.

"The man's a enunch, sir!"

I fairly choked on my beer, earning myself a hefty clout on the back.

"Indeed," said Holmes, as calmly as if we were discussing nothing more than the weather. "And how come you by this information?"

"I have friends at the Admiralty," Effingham confided. "This accident of Old Randall's deprived him of more than the use of his legs."

"Most unfortunate."

"The fact remains that he had no right to marry and expect to keep his wife in ignorance of the matter."

"I would have thought impossible," said I.

"But Flora loved the fellow and would not leave him, despite my advice to the contrary."

"Flora?" questioned Holmes.

Effingham waved a dismissive hand. "Mrs Randall. _Lady_ Randall, as she should have been, but she would never use the title. Said she would have no doings with fancy airs and graces, more fool her. If you've got it, flaunt it, that's what I say."

"And you were her confidante in such matters?"

A sly grin crept across his face. "We were close, I grant you. A woman must seek comfort where she can if not from her husband." He sighed and slapped his tankard down on the counter. "But she would not have me. As I say, she was a good woman, too good for the likes of Old Randall."

Effingham went back to his drinking, leaving Holmes with an intense look of heightened concentration and thought on his face. As much as I hated to break his chain of thought, I had had my fill of this place and was in need of fresh air.

"Would you mind very much if we left this establishment?" said I, nudging his arm. "It's rather stifling in here."

He made no argument and, thanking the landlord and making our farewells, we departed from the oppressive atmosphere back out into the bright afternoon sunshine.

"Well, Watson, what did you make of that particular revelation?" asked Holmes, while we waited for our horses.

"Most unsavoury. That Effingham strikes me a most lewd fellow, and a bounder and cad to boot!"

Holmes smiled at my outburst. "I must confess that I was not altogether shocked as you were. I had expected something of the sort."

"Surely you jest, Holmes."

He fixed me with a level stare. "I never jest, you should know that by now. When I state that I had suspected the Admiral's impotency, that is the truth."

"Holmes, really! I must protest."

"You are too much of a prude, Watson. That fact was dangled before us numerous times and yet you still failed to take up the inference. What was it the Randall's housekeeper, Mrs Bates, said? _'A saint that girl was, taking him on when anyone else would have stood up for their marital rights'_. That should have told you everything you needed to know. That beer-soaked fellow in there merely confirmed what was blatantly obvious."

Now he explained it, I must admit that there was some logic in what Holmes said. Into my mind came something that the Admiral himself had said that suddenly made a good deal more sense.

"Sir James said that he retired from the sea _'less than a man'_. Now I begin to understand what he meant."

"I suspect that his injury is not uncommon amongst those who practice the arts of war. Although I do defer to an expert," he said, gesturing in my direction.

"I have seen it happen a few times in the course of my army career, yes," I replied. "But I maintain that it's still pretty low to discuss so respected a man's misfortunes in this callous fashion. A prude I may be, but this conversation makes me most uncomfortable."

"I should imagine that the Admiral would agree with you," said Holmes. "Why do you think that he came here? To escape the gossip about his condition, no doubt. Ah, Watson, one may lose oneself in these hills, but it is impossible to lose one's past. Even here, it followed him."

"Yes, it was unfortunate that Effingham had friends in the Admiralty all too willing to tell the tale."

Holmes shook his head. "It would have come out eventually. If ever there was a place to foster speculation and rumour, then it is in the quiet countryside, where every newcomer is under scrutiny and every resident in full knowledge of his neighbour's most intimate details."

"That's as maybe, Holmes, but how on earth does it help Miss Hopkirk? You do remember why we are here, I take it?"

"My dear fellow, I had not forgotten." He took out his pocket watch and consulted it. "And I see that it is five to two. Let us take a slow walk back to the police station and see if our amiable sergeant has returned to his neglected post."

* * *

_Continued in Chapter VI._

_Reviews always welcome and much appreciated._


	6. VI: The Tale of Miss Hopkirk

_**The Adventure of the Admiral's Wife**_

**VI: The Tale of Miss Hopkirk**

Holmes was true to his word that our return to the police station was indeed a slow one. Despite my prediction of rain, the afternoon sun persisted, offering gentle warmth to man and beast alike. I should have described the scene as pleasant, if not for that lingering knowledge of the terrible crime that had been committed in such idyllic surroundings.

So slow was our progress that Holmes deigned to pause long enough for me to purchase a sizable chunk of mint cake, home-made and still warm from the oven, from an elderly lady who had set up a small stall beside her front door. She offered us a toothy grin as I tossed the coins into her bowl while she continued busily spinning, and I bore away our prize in triumph.

To a hungry man, this was indeed manna from heaven. Even Holmes was persuaded to overcome his initial reticence at my purchase and sate the rumblings of his stomach. With a little time on our hands, we paused by the briskly-flowing river to let our horses drink while I divided up the spoils between us.

"This is quite intolerable, of course," he observed quite of out the blue.

"What is?" said I. "The cake? I thought it was rather good."

"No, my dear fellow, I refer to our consumption of it on foot and out in the open. You do realise, Watson, that from behind every curtained window of this street, our every movement is being noted. What will be our legacy? I dare say that the good people of Kendal will talk for a long time of the ill-mannered Mr Holmes and his companion, who loitered in their town, devouring their finest cake and dropping crumbs in their wake."

I must admit that this statement, whether intentional or not, struck me as being absurdly amusing and I burst out laughing.

"You may laugh," said he. "But it is a known fact that the probability of being observed is in direct proportion to the absurdity of one's actions."

"Then what would you have us do, Holmes?" I countered. "I was hungry and had no liking either for tripe or the regulars at that inn we just left."

"Well, you may have a point. I must say that cow's stomach boiled in milk holds little appeal for me either, whereas this is exceedingly welcome. Oh, and that reminds me. You never did tell me the particulars of that tea you took with Miss Hopkirk when you berated me for being rude to the poor girl."

"That was several weeks ago! How on earth do you expect me to remember that?"

"Try. It might have some bearing on the case."

"Since you put it like that," I began, grasping the loose threads of memory as they returned to me; "Miss Hopkirk told me of her mistress' mystery illness, to which Mrs Hudson said it was nothing more than her fancy."

Holmes shook his head. "No, it was real enough."

"Now you are surely jesting with me. How do you know that for certain when it has baffled the foremost medical minds in London?"

"Then let me put this to you. Is it likely that such a woman, who refused the title which was hers by right and sensibly turned down the attentions of that aging lothario, Effingham, would feign such a debilitating and devastating illness?"

"Well, women do suffer from headaches – so I've heard," I added quickly as Holmes shot me a sideways glance.

"And this no doubt would be gleaned from your experience of women of many nations and three separate continents? Well, it either speaks of a lack of success on your part, Watson, or a continuing woeful ignorance that a wide and practical observation of the sex has failed to remedy."

I was more than a little offended at this comment. "You claim to be the expert then?"

"What a revolting thought! No, I readily defer to my resident Don Juan in such matters. But a headache is one thing; a wasting illness quite another. No, I think we can say with some certainty that whatever ailed Mrs Randall was very real and very cruel. What else did Miss Hopkirk tell you?"

In all honesty, I racked my brains, but could remember very little that might interest Holmes about our conversation.

"Mrs Hudson said something about the Admiral liking his wife ill because it made him feel wanted, as I recall."

"I think we can take that on its merits."

"Oh, and something Miss Hopkirk said about Mrs Randall forcing her to come to London when really she would have preferred to stay."

"Now that is interesting. Did she elaborate?"

"No."

"Unfortunate. Do go on."

"There's not much else. I said that you would have got on admirably with Mrs Randall, since you both share peculiar ideas on marriage and –"

"Which were?"

"Something about love being the most destructive force in the world?"

Holmes sighed. "Oh, my dear lady," said he. "To have endured and met such a fate. What else?"

"Nothing. Only that she wished to know if you were successful in resolving people's problems in case she ever wished to consult you."

"And what did you say to that?"

I had the distinct sense that his interest in that particular aspect of our conversation had less to do with the matter at hand and more for personal curiosity. It crossed my mind that a little humility on his part would do him no harm at all; there again, I am not so nearly as cruel in such matters as Holmes would invariably be if he were in my position.

"I told her that I had every confidence in you," I said truthfully.

I read the brief display of evident pleasure that flashed across his countenance, which he quickly brought under control and replaced with his usual inscrutable mask.

"Did you now?" said he thoughtfully. "Well, that was very unwise of you, Watson. No one is infallible. From such an elevated position, one can only fall."

"Are you in danger of falling in this present instance?" I asked.

He glanced over at me. "No. In light of what we have learnt, the whole affair becomes quite commonplace, enlivened in places with touches of the bizarre, I grant you. You do see where this is leading?"

It was not difficult to follow this line of reasoning to lay the blame at the feet of a particular individual. To my mind, however, this was the one person who had least reason in the world to wish Mrs Randall's demise, and I told Holmes so.

"Yes, that consideration vexes me too," he mused. "There must be some deep motive here that as yet eludes us still. Well, such is life. Perhaps the charming Miss Hopkirk may enlighten us as to that detail."

With our brief meal at an end, we completed the short distance to the low, two-storey grey-stone building that was the residence of Kendal's police force, and it was to my relief and Holmes' considerable satisfaction that our second visit proved more successful than our first.

Beside the open door, seated on a bench with a cup of tea in his hand and his boots removed, sat a large, untidy man in uniform, sporting a bushy black beard and twinkling eyes beneath thick-set brows.

"Afternoon to you, gents," said he. "How may I be of assistance?"

"I am Mr Sherlock Holmes and this is colleague, Dr Watson. We are here to see Miss Emily Hopkirk, who is currently languishing in your cells."

"On whose authority?"

"Whose authority would you prefer?"

This off-hand remark seemed to throw the sturdy fellow into something of a quandary. "Well, Mr Holmes, you should by rights speak to Inspector Allen. He's in charge here."

"Very well. Where is he to be found?"

"Aberdeen. He's away visiting his in-laws this weekend."

Holmes sighed impatiently. "Who else?"

This time, our obstacle in uniform took his time. "In that case, me, I suppose. I'm in charge today."

"Then may we have an interview with Miss Hopkirk? Sergeant?"

"Sergeant Brown," said he. "Well, gents, I don't rightly know that I should. She's been charged with murder has Miss Hopkirk."

"And we have come a long way to test that charge," said Holmes tersely. "Sergeant Brown, do you wish for promotion?"

The noble fellow considered. "I suppose I do. It would mean a pay rise and that'd be right handy, what with a little 'un on the way."

"Then permit us to get to the bottom of this mystery today, and you will take all the credit for very little effort. Does that have any appeal to you?"

"By thunder, it does," said Brown. "But where's the mystery? Miss Hopkirk'll be going up before the beak tomorrow and he's sure to send her for trial."

"On what grounds?"

"For murdering her mistress. She stretched a length of string across the stairs and tripped her down the stairs on account of her catching her stealing a brooch."

"String is it now!" cried Holmes. "I do declare, Watson, that the details in this case are handled with a lack of care that is most lamentable. Sergeant," said he, appealing to the man directly; "We have very little time and no inclination to remain here any longer than is humanly possible. Now, will you aid us?"

A broad grin came to the sergeant's face. "I know you now. You're that London detective who solves all those strange mysteries. How's it done, that's what I'd like to know."

"By the application of logic and intelligence. Would you care for a demonstration?"

"Would I not!"

"Then let us see Miss Hopkirk."

That seemed finally to spur the sergeant into action. He slipped on his boots and with laces trailing led the way into the dull and humid interior. A bunch of keys hung from a nail on the wall, and these he took down as he started along a darkened corridor lined with several barred doors. At the farthermost one, he stopped, tried a variety of different keys in the lock and finally pressed the correct one home.

The door swung open with a squeak that was enough to put anyone's teeth on edge to reveal a dark interior, ill-lit by a grimy window that had not seen a clean cloth in many a long day set high in the wall. On a bed with blankets that had seen better days sat Miss Hopkirk, her cheeks stained with tears and her demeanour extremely dejected.

"Mr Holmes, Dr Watson!" said she with evident joy at seeing us. "How good it is to see you. How fares my aunt? Does she know of this terrible business?"

"Hush now, Miss Hopkirk," said Holmes. "Your aunt was informed by wire and she in turn informed us. That is why we are here."

"There has been some horrible mistake," she went on. "I did not harm Mrs Randall."

"That I believe wholeheartedly," said I. "Rest assured we will do all we can to ensure your release."

She offered me a heart-warming smile of gratitude.

"Thank you, Sergeant," said Holmes. "We will not detain Miss Hopkirk long."

"I don't rightly know that I should go," said he, "what with you two being strangers around here."

Holmes' face assumed an expression of scandalised outrage and it fell to me to calm the situation.

"Quite understandable and most commendable, Sergeant," I said. "But it has been our experience that people will tell us more without the presence of the official force."

Brown chewed on his lower lip and considered. "Well, if it's all right with you, Miss, then it's all right with me. You need me, mind, you just call."

And with that, he turned and left, leaving Holmes fuming in his wake.

"The temerity of the man," he muttered.

"Holmes, it's not important."

"I dare say. Now, Miss Hopkirk, would you kindly tell us all that happened on the night in question."

"There isn't much to tell," she began. "It was an evening much like any other. Mrs Randall retired to her room after dinner and the Admiral to his study, as was his usual practice. Mrs Randall and I played a few hands of cards, and then she went to bed and read for a few hours. At about eleven, I brought her up her usual glass of warm milk and then went to my room. The next thing I knew, I was awoken by this fearful scream at about two in the morning. I rushed out and found Mrs Randall lying at the bottom of the stairs. Then the Admiral appeared and accused me of having pushed her."

"How long elapsed between your hearing the scream and going to your mistress?"

"A minute or two, not long at all. I am a light sleeper and the moment I heard it, I was up and out of my bed in an instant."

"Did you see anyone?"

"Only Mrs Randall. Then the Admiral appeared."

"From his study?"

"I believe so. I looked and suddenly he was there with a look on his face such that I hope never to see again in all my years."

"How was Mrs Randall dressed?"

"In her night things and dressing gown."

"Was it usual for Mrs Randall to roam the house late at night?"

When Miss Hopkirk was slow to reply, Holmes fixed her with such a stare that I could have described as violently intimidating.

"Miss Hopkirk, a woman is dead and you stand accused of her murder. This natural reticence of yours, commendable as it may be, will surely lead you to the gallows."

She bowed her head under his intense scrutiny. "I was taught never to speak ill of the dead, Mr Holmes."

Holmes' gaze softened somewhat. "Where the living are in peril, concern for the dead must come second. Whatever sins have been committed here, it is not for you to take their burden as your own."

Slowly, I saw the strength of this persuasive argument take a firmer grip on Miss Hopkirk's conscience. For my own part, I thought Holmes was being rather hard on the girl, who was displaying a tremendous spirit of fortitude and loyalty to her mistress in the most trying of times. Finally, however, she too could see the wisdom of his words.

"Mrs Randall had been somewhat different in manner of late," she said. "I took it to be due to the improvement in her health."

"Different, how?"

"It's nothing I can point to directly, Mr Holmes. Rather it was little things, if you understand me. For example, it used to be that if she needed something in the night, she would call for me. But just lately, she had taken to rising and seeing to her own needs. In the past few weeks, I have heard her rise at all hours. I put it down to the fact that she was restless because she had stopped taking her tonics."

"Tonics?"

"For her condition. Several weeks ago, she began refusing them altogether. I advised her against this, as they seemed to have been finally aiding her recovery over the past few months."

"Yes, I remember you saying that her health had showed some improvement," said I.

She offered me a faint smile. "She had continued to improve, Doctor. But of those tonics, she would have none of them. In all honesty, I feared for her."

"Did the Admiral know of this new disinclination in his wife to take her medicines?"

She shook her head. "I did not tell him."

"Ah, from that I infer that Mrs Randall asked you not to do so. But that's not what I asked, Miss Hopkirk."

"Well, then, all I can say is that I do not know."

"How do you account for the sapphire brooch found in your possession?"

"Mrs Randall gave it to me. She said she had many and liked it least of all."

Holmes raised an eyebrow in my direction. "A strange woman indeed to give away her jewels, even those she does not like. "

With that, he paused in his questioning, a signal I recognised as the herald of his lighting upon a more delicate topic.

"Relations between the Admiral and Mrs Randall, were they cordial?" he asked.

A blush rose to Miss Hopkirk's cheeks. "I believe so. I have never heard a disagreeable word pass between them."

"At least, not in your presence. Well, Miss Hopkirk, I must say that your mistress was exceedingly fortunate in having found such a devoted companion as yourself. You may rest assured that you have preserved Mrs Randall's memory in its entirety."

She glanced nervously first at Holmes, then to me. "I do not understand."

"Do not be modest," Holmes admonished her. "At every turn, you have dissembled and tried to evade answering even the simplest of my questions. You are shielding her, Miss Hopkirk, and –"

His words stopped abruptly and his expression was seized by that peculiar light of revelation I had come to know so well. Clearly his train of thought had led him to a conclusion that fitted the facts to his satisfaction. I sensed that our time here was at an end when I saw a smile drift across his features.

"Come, Watson, we can do no more here. Miss Hopkirk, all is known and while I do not condone either your behaviour or that of the parties involved, I do at least respect your loyalty. With a fair wind and clear skies, I think it is reasonable to say that you will have your freedom by tonight."

He banged on the door and the sergeant quickly appeared to release us from the cell. Back in the reception, Holmes paused by the desk and put his questions to the man.

"I take it, Sergeant Brown, that a post mortem was not conducted? Why?"

"Didn't seem much point to it, Mr Holmes," he explained. "It was a clear as day what had killed the poor lady, what with seeing her head all smashed in like that. And as the doctor said, there was nothing to be gained by distressing Admiral Randall further."

"Dr Cuddy, I take it?"

"Yes, sir. He's qualified to handle such matters around here. Between you and me, we would have had our local quack here in Kendal do the necessary, but what with the ale and his arthritis, he ain't up to much."

"Yes, I quite understand," said Holmes. "Tell me, this twine or string or wire that I have heard so much about – did you retain it as evidence? May I see it?"

Brown disappeared into a side room and presently returned with a creased brown envelope, the contents of which he tipped onto the desk. Finally, we were able to confirm that the object that had precipitated Mrs Randall's fatal fall had indeed been a length of wire, now in two pieces, the type of which could be found in gardens the length and breadth of the country.

Holmes removed his gloves and began a detailed inspected of the two lengths.

"Interesting," said he, passing a section to me. "Run your fingers over that, Watson, and tell me what you think."

I did as he asked, not really knowing what he expected me to find. I did, however, detect a subtle change in the thickness of the wire as though the moment of impact had caused it to stretch to incredible thinness and thus snap.

"Precisely," said Holmes when I stated my observation. "Except feel how smooth it is, Watson. The centre of the length had been sanded down to this exceptional fineness you noted."

"But why?" I asked.

"Yes, why on earth would anyone do that?" added Brown.

Holmes smiled. "Well, I think if you would accompany us to Chatham House, this mystery can be resolved this very evening. And as your superior is absent, you might send ahead for your colleague from Windermere, Sergeant Beamish, to be witness to the error of his investigative technique. Oh, yes," said he; "And Dr Cuddy too. I anticipate a medical emergency."

* * *

_Continued in Chapter VII._

_Reviews always welcome and much appreciated._


	7. VII: Concerning the death of Mrs Randall

_**The Adventure of the Admiral's Wife**_

**VII: Concerning the death of Mrs Randall**

We arrived at Chatham House in the late afternoon to the sight of rain-heavy storm clouds rolling in from the hills. Between the vagaries of the weather and several hours of rough riding, I ached roundly from head to toe and wished now for nothing more than the comfort of a blazing fire and a glass of brandy.

Before that small blessing could be realised, however, there was the matter of the death of Mrs Randall to be resolved. By the end of this day, an innocent woman would be freed and the guilty party left to face the gallows for the crime.

I must confess that I was certain of the identity of the culprit, although as to the motive, I was still at a loss. The usual reason seemed to have no bearing on this case, littered as it was, as Holmes had said, with touches of the bizarre.

Sergeant Brown had been as good as his word, and our arrival at the gates of Chatham House coincided with the appearance of the investigating officer, Sergeant Beamish, a slight, balding man in his mid-fifties, who had managed to rustle up two constables and a fair-sized police wagon. To my mind, it seemed rather heavy-handed, but clearly the sergeant was keen to make up for his initial haste of arrest by overcompensating now.

Understandably too, the man was somewhat guarded in his manner, especially when Holmes informed him that the reason for his summons was to prevent a miscarriage of justice. Such a pronouncement served only to heighten the sergeant's indignation and caused him to defend his decision most vigorously.

"Come, Sergeant," Holmes had declared. "We are urged to accept defeat with a good heart. The fault is not entirely your own. We face an opponent of the first water, who has caused you to be led astray in your investigation."

"I don't see how, Mr Holmes," Beamish had said. "It all seems pretty clear to me."

"Well, let us see if I cannot provide another explanation. Shall we make haste to the house, gentleman, before the heavens open?"

The only member of our party missing was Dr Cuddy, detained as he was, as Beamish explained, by the sudden illness of a lady staying at one of the larger hotels in Windermere. He would join us, we were assured, as soon as he was able. Our small party thus set off along the drive as brisk and stinging raindrops began to fall.

Some way from the house, Holmes informed us that his horse was lame and promptly dismounted. The police wagon trundled onwards while I waited as he bent down at the animal's side and deftly flicked a stone from its hoof with his penknife. Then, together we completed the distance in silence, Holmes on foot and in that state of intense suppressed exultation of mind that I knew was best served by my not inferring with questions that would be answered soon enough.

The door was already open when we arrived and we hurried inside, shaking the few raindrops from our coats as we did so. An uneasy atmosphere of calm pervaded the house, yet I was eminently aware of underlying tension as though our visit had been anticipated.

The maid who took our things seemed agitated and informed us without waiting for our inquiry that the Admiral was expecting us in the study. Holmes led the way and, leaving the constables by the door, four of us crammed into the already stifling space of Admiral Sir James Randall's private domain.

He was sat at his desk, still with his books spread all around him. Except now those books were closed and his pen lay idle, the silver lid of the inkwell closed and his papers presented in a neat, bound pile before him. He regarded us with an interest that lacked the usual curiosity one expects when faced with such an intrusion.

"Mr Holmes, returned so soon, and with so many in attendance," he said with some small trace of amusement. "One would think you were on the trail of some dangerous villain, gentleman."

"Indeed we are, Sir James. For what is a murderer but the vilest of criminals?"

The Admiral sat back in his chair with a faint smile on his face that was ill-concealed behind his steepled fingers.

"Am I to take it, from your presence here, that you are to accuse me of such a crime?"

"Do you deny the charge?"

"I do believe that it is an immutable principle of our law that the accused is innocent until proven guilty. Are you able to persuade these police officers otherwise?"

"He's right, sir," spoke up Beamish. "I hope you can support these accusations, Mr Holmes?"

"I can indeed. The details are clear enough. A length of wire, stolen from the gardener's shed, was secured at the top of the stairs. It was sanded to a thinness that was enough to halt a person's stride and yet at the same time break and leave the path clear for the next to follow unhindered. I think even you, Sergeant, might have looked askance at Miss Hopkirk as a suspect had she tumbled down after her mistress."

Beamish cleared his throat somewhat uncomfortably at having his reasoning so baldy placed under scrutiny.

"What you did find, of course, was exactly what you were meant to find – the two broken lengths of wire. Therefore, this could be no accident, but a deliberate act of murder. Who could have done such a thing? It was only natural that suspicion should fall on the husband, yet in this case, on the surface of it, there was no obvious motive. Miss Hopkirk, on the other hand, had in her possession a substantial piece of jewellery. It would not be the first time that a maid has stolen from her mistress."

"Nor the last," Brown added sagely.

"Quite so," agreed Holmes. "Then there is Sir James' physical condition, seemingly weak and infirm as he is. Yet he has no valet to attend to his daily needs, which can only mean he is quite capable of fending for himself, in addition to being fiercely protective of his privacy. Dr Watson will tell you that infirmity in one limb is often compensated by superior strength in another, in this case his upper body. Who would suspect that such an infirm gentleman would have the strength to drag himself up that flight of stairs to secure the wire in place?"

"Did you, sir?" asked Beamish.

"Why don't you ask Mr Holmes?" said Sir James calmly. "He seems to have all the answers."

"Dr Watson will confirm that hardly anyone we have interviewed today has been able to tell us with any certainty the exact nature of the thing that caused Mrs Randall's fall. Dr Cuddy has told us twine, Sergeant Beamish string. Only two people – Mrs Bates and Sir James – were accurate as to description."

"Meaning that the murderer had unintentionally given a clue as to their identity by knowing the precise nature of what the Sergeant found on the stairs," said I.

"Precisely, Watson. Mrs Bates I discounted immediately, for she had no motive and Mr Bates had already informed her of the theft from his shed. Sir James, however, was a quite different prospect."

I noticed how wide and glittering Holmes' eyes had grown as he warmed to the telling of the tale. Even I, as much as I found the whole business distasteful, could not help but hang on his every word with interest as the affair was slowly unravelled.

"Add to this the new but very faint linear scratch marks you will find on several of the stair treads," Holmes continued. "The spacing between them is of finger distance, as you would expect had someone clawed their way to the top. Who else in this household but Sir James would have the necessity to ascend the stairs in this manner? And for what reason, since his daily needs were met in this suite of rooms on the ground floor?"

"Well, I'll be blessed," said Brown in a breathy whisper.

"The fact that some of those scratches overlap told me that this procedure was carried out on several, possibly consecutive, nights after the rest of the household had retired. Each morning, the wire was removed. But finally it fulfilled its foul purpose and Mrs Randall tripped and fell. And you, Sir James, were there to witness the success of your bloody deed."

"How do you know that, Mr Holmes?" asked Beamish.

"Because of his swift appearance on the scene. Miss Hopkirk told us how Sir James suddenly appeared to accuse her of murder. I do not question the extent of his infirmity for one minute, but I do doubt that such a man could cover so great a distance in so short a time. Therefore, he must have been close on hand. Am I correct, Sir James?"

The old gentleman regarded him balefully across the desk for a brief moment, and then with a deep sigh of resignation, slowly nodded his head.

"You weave a good tale, Mr Holmes," he replied. "And yet there is so much more you do not know."

"Then tell us, sir."

Sir James chuckled as with a great deal of effort, he hoisted his frame up from the chair.

"A clever fellow you claim to be, but not clever enough, I'll wager. Yes, it was as you have described. Why should I deny it? I shall answer for my soul soon enough before the supreme judge of all mankind. In the meantime, it will undoubtedly give my worthless neighbours something to gossip about. Let them laugh at Admiral Sir James Randall now."

"What's all this?" said Beamish. "People have never laughed at you, Sir James. You've always been held in a great deal of respect, what with your distinguished career and all."

The old man banged his cane furiously on the floor.

"Do not insult my intelligence, sergeant! I have heard them whispering about me. My injury is the talk of the countryside. Whining dogs that they are! What do they know what it is to serve a fickle mistress?"

"Many men are injured in the service of their country, sir," I said. "I myself –"

"Have you been robbed of your future, Doctor?" he interrupted brusquely. "Denied the comforts of marriage and of heirs to carry your name on to the next generation?"

"Well, no," I admitted.

"Then do not pretend you understand."

His face was a mask a pure malevolence, contorted in its resentment and bitterness against a world that by equal turns both pitied and ridiculed his predicament.

"She said she did not care," he went on, his eyes glazing over at the remembrance of happier times. "My Flora, the prettiest girl in all Cumbria, she could have had anyone. I told her and she did not laugh. I gave her every chance to change her mind, yet she would not waver from her decision. All I could offer her was security and protection. She said that was enough. I kept that promise to her."

"You planned and carried out her premeditated murder," said I, aghast. "How does that ever constitute keeping your promise?"

"I saved her from sniffing dogs like that Effingham and his ilk. If I am guilty of anything, it is of loving her too much."

"By giving her a drug that caused her to become weak and debilitated?" remarked Holmes. "That is not love, Sir James."

"What would you know of it?" he retorted. "I am a man of the world, Mr Holmes. I knew the peril she faced. She swore to uphold my honour, but I knew she would fall prey to their fine words and handsome faces. It had happened to better women than her."

"As with your first love," I said, recalling what Mrs Bates had informed us of the gossip that spoke of the woman the Admiral had loved and lost in his younger days.

"She was deceived and beguiled when I was not there to protect her. I swore that it would not happen again. Don't you see? I saved her from them! Flora was an innocent lamb amongst wolves. When she danced, all men watched. When she laughed, all men listened."

His fury spent, his face took a more peaceful expression in remembrance of those times.

"Soon, gentlemen, soon I shall hear her laugh again in a happier place than this world. No man shall come between husband and wife then."

"No man," said Holmes. "It falls to a wiser providence than us, Sir James, who may be more inclined to show mercy."

Sir James snorted. "Mercy? What need have I of that?"

"You took an innocent girl and sought to control every aspect of her existence. When you suspected that your control was slipping, you reacted by taking the only avenue left to you, by robbing her of her life. That is your crime, sir."

The old man stared at Holmes, his expression a confusing muddle of emotion, until traces of moisture appeared at the corners of his eyes and his bile was replaced by the deepest sorrow.

"She would not take her medicine," he said in a breaking voice. "I knew then that they had stolen her from me. I had to protect her. They were all against us, even that snake of a girl who deceived my poor wife and turned her against me. Don't you see? I had to keep her from their clutches."

In the awful silence that followed broken only the sound of his pitiful sobbing, Holmes glanced at me and I read in his look that we could expect no more from this wreck of a man. He had destroyed the woman he had truly loved, and the worst of it was that he believed he had acted in her best interests.

For my own part, I was sick at heart from the double tragedy of the tale. My only wish now was to leave this place with its long shadows and storm-clouded skies as soon as possible; even London with all its faults seemed a happier prospect than these sorrow-marred surroundings.

"Sergeant Beamish, have you heard enough?" said Holmes gravely.

"Yes, I believe I have, sir. Come along, Sir James."

"What of my studies?" he cried, resisting the sergeant's attempt to take his arm as he laid a protective hand on the pile of papers on his desk. "This is my life's work. This manuscript must be sent to my publisher."

"I'll see what I can do, sir," said Beamish. "Sergeant Brown, would you do the necessary?"

Brown produced a pair of handcuffs, but seeing Sir James' heavy reliance on his stick, seemed torn between completing his official duty and showing a little compassion to the elderly gentleman. In the end, he settled for offering the assistance of his arm and in this way helped his prisoner from the room.

I watched their uneasy progress across the hall, where the servants stood regarding the scene with morbid curiosity, ready to carry the news far and wide. At the same time, I saw a fellow in a sodden hat and coat come hurrying through the open front door out of the driving rain.

"That would be Dr Cuddy," came Holmes' voice from behind me. "Would you ask him to step this way, Watson? We might as well clear up the minor details of this case in the presence of the estimable fellow."

* * *

_Continued in Chapter VIII._

_Reviews welcome and appreciated._


	8. VIII: The Final Blow

_**The Adventure of the Admiral's Wife**_

**VIII: The Final Blow**

I must confess that I had had my fill of this sordid business and could not imagine the nature of final details to which Holmes was alluding. Far be it from me to question his motives, however, so I did as he had asked and presently Dr Cuddy joined us in the study, apologising profusely for his tardiness and his sodden appearance before addressing the matter at hand.

"You've arrested Sir James for the murder of his wife?" asked he.

"Yes, sir," replied Sergeant Beamish with great authority. "He made a full confession and will hang for his crime after the due process of the law."

"I seriously doubt it will come to that," said Holmes. "Sir James will be dead long before his appointment with the hangman's rope."

"How on earth could you possibly know that, Mr Holmes?" Beamish said.

"Sir James made it perfectly clear, Sergeant, when he spoke of having to answer soon enough for his crimes before the supreme judge of all mankind. Obviously he expects to meet his maker in the very near future. Dr Cuddy should be able to confirm that."

The doctor nodded gravely. "His heart is failing. He has a matter of weeks. I suspect that imprisonment will hasten that end."

"Ah, that reminds me," Holmes added. "Sergeant, you have an innocent woman in your cells. I take it there is no impediment to her release?"

"Only in the matter of the brooch," said he.

"In that we may say with some certainty that Mrs Randall did indeed gift the item to the girl. Unless I am much mistaken, this brooch was fashioned into a spray of forget-me-nots, was it not?"

Beamish's mouth dropped open. "However did you know that, sir?"

Holmes smiled at the effect he had produced.

"The mention of sapphires immediately suggested the possibility to me. Then there was Mrs Randall's attitude. You will recall, Watson, that Miss Hopkirk told us that her mistress liked it least of all her jewels. It has been my experience that however the vulgar the piece is, a woman does not usually give away a thing of such value unless there is some other association. In this case, the allusion of the flowers – forget-me-nots – a token of undying love. By then, of course, she was much the wiser."

"Poor lady," said Beamish solemnly. "I'll see to Miss Hopkirk's release immediately, Mr Holmes. Good day to you, sirs."

With his departure, I expected Holmes to declare the business at an end. He seemed inclined to linger, however, and to my consternation had wandered behind the desk and was leafing through the pile of papers of which Sir James had been so protective.

I was used to these seemingly irrelevant diversions of his, but not so Dr Cuddy, who grew increasingly restless as the silence continued until he was compelled to speak.

"A tragic business," said he at last. "At least we may be assured that justice has been done."

"Justice, Dr Cuddy, would have been better served had you not persuaded Mrs Randall to remain with a man whose mental state was clearly disturbed," said Holmes sternly.

The effect was quite startling. Dr Cuddy stared at him, his eyes wide, and a strangled cry came from his slightly parted mouth. Holmes had struck at the truth of this matter with this seemingly wild pronouncement, a belief further confirmed when the doctor crumpled and near collapsed. I helped him to the nearest chair and loosened his collar. After this and the application of a little brandy, he was once more in command of his senses.

"May God forgive me," he cried, burying his head in his hands. "I never thought it would come to this! I never thought he would harm her."

Holmes gave a snort of contempt.

"Your knowledge of the man should have given you ample warning, Doctor. Or did you insult his intelligence with your pity?"

"Holmes, go gently," I chided. "Dr Cuddy has had a shock."

"And Mrs Randall is dead," he countered harshly. "A tragedy that could and should have been avoided, Watson."

"Yes," Dr Cuddy agreed. "I see now that I was wrong."

"It speaks in your favour that you attempted to address that error by your staunch defence of Miss Hopkirk. Enlisting our support in the matter no doubt was a further salve to your conscience."

"He knew that Sir James was guilty of the crime?" I asked. "Why did you not speak out sooner, Doctor?"

"Because he could not," said Holmes. "For then other questions would have been asked that would have besmirched the good name of a woman whose only crime was to be too trusting. Better to steer us in the general direction of the guilty party and let justice take its course."

"I'm afraid I must be dreadfully dim today, Holmes," said I. "Because I fail to see what you are driving at."

"Quite understandable, Watson, since we have been forced to plum the depths of very deep and murky waters in this case."

He moved the books from a corner of the desk and found a place to perch while he explained the matter.

"I should start by saying that Dr Cuddy managed to discover what all the London experts could not – the cause of Mrs Randall's illness. I should imagine the revelation came to him quite by chance and then through an act of kindness in the belief of a shared interest."

His hand strayed to the sheaf of papers on the desk.

"This is indeed a _magnum opus_," he remarked. "Sir James' insights into the later reign of Charles II are most revealing. You are familiar with the period, Dr Cuddy?"

He nodded. "Sir James was kind enough to lend me some literature on the subject."

"In particular, medical works of the era? Oh, do not look so surprised, Doctor. I notice a fine compendium of herbs on the shelf that is quite devoid of dust, suggesting that the volume has been in recent use. It is quite natural that you should find it of interest. And then of course you discovered this."

From his pocket, Holmes produced a stem of the plant in which he had shown so much interest earlier. The blood that had flushed Dr Cuddy's face suddenly deserted him and he grew pale.

Holmes sighed. "Come, now, Doctor, this is no time for modesty. Name it, sir."

"Bitter Vetch," he mumbled.

"Also commonly known as the Heath Pea. Dr Watson will tell you that I have at my disposal a fair amount of out-of-the-way knowledge, to which earlier this morning he was able to add a passing interest in wild plants."

"Clearly more than a passing interest," said I. "Profound would be a better word."

He did not demure at my pronouncement.

"Well, I'll grant that my familiarity with the subject is considerably greater than that of the average man in the street. Did you know, for example, that in lean times the poor would consume Heath Pea to stave off the pangs of hunger?"

He held the stem up before his eyes and gave the tiny flowers the greatest of consideration.

"I might be mistaken, but I do recall reading once that Charles II used to feed it to the more ample of his mistresses to keep their weight down."

In an instant, his eager gaze had switched back to Dr Cuddy.

"When did you realise Sir James was feeding Bitter Vetch to his wife without her knowledge?"

Dr Cuddy bowed his head.

"Several weeks ago," said he in a strained voice. "It was as you said, Mr Holmes. Sir James lent me that book. Can you imagine my utter amazement when one day I was tipped from my horse and came face to face with the very plant described to me in the pages of that book?"

"And naturally you told Mrs Randall?"

"Yes. I asked her if she had ever eaten Bitter Vetch, although it was clear to me that she had no notion of what I meant. At the time, her health had somewhat improved."

"In the hungry months, as Mrs Bates described it, before the plant was ripe for picking. You see, Watson, Sir James was forced to allow her improvement whenever his supply ran low, hence the waxing and waning of her condition that so puzzled the experts."

"At first, she did not believe me," Dr Cuddy continued. "Then she began to make some investigations of her own."

"In the dead of night?"

"Yes, indeed. She found his distillery and a quantity of the tonics she took daily. We could only come to the conclusion that Sir James was adding the drug to her medicines. She was distraught and did not know what to do."

"Quite so. She had in fact considered consulting me, Doctor. The fact she did not suggested she had been persuaded otherwise. By you, I fancy."

He nodded dismally. "She was all for leaving him at first, but after I told her of his condition she said that for decency's sake it was better that she stayed with him for what little time he had left. She was a good and kind woman, Mr Holmes. As long as she avoided taking her medicines, I was sure she would be safe enough."

"Thus what you gave with one hand, you took away with the other," Holmes observed gravely. "You left her at the mercy of a most deranged and vindictive man."

"I never meant it so," Dr Cuddy declared. "I thought only to spare her the shame and scandal of a divorce. Why make her the object of ridicule in the neighbourhood when nature would give her freedom in the fullness of time?"

"There are other grounds for divorce than non-consummation, Doctor."

"Who would believe a charge of wilful cruelty? The Admiral was much respected."

Holmes shook his head. "Even after two years' tenure, you are still relatively new to country life. In time you may have acquired true acceptance and a better understanding of the nature of these things. Sir James' condition was widely known, despite your reticence on the subject."

"How? I had told no one."

"It is human nature to be curious about new things and new people. One may run from one's past, but it will always catch up again, as Sir James discovered. You yourself, Doctor, may discover that you too are the subject of some speculation, not least about your callous behaviour towards a certain young lady."

"Who?" I asked.

"Why, Miss Hopkirk of course, Watson. A doctor may call only so many times before certain questions are asked. How better to explain his many visits to Chatham House than for the reason of paying attendance on his intended fiancée? Miss Hopkirk was a willing accomplice in this deception, I take it?"

Dr Cuddy let out a groan of misery.

"It was the only way I could see Flora without raising Sir James' suspicions."

"You failed, Doctor. Sir James was well aware that his wife had discovered his secret, though how we shall never know. His attempt to place the blame on Miss Hopkirk showed me that he knew of her collusion in the affair. You remember, Watson, he called her 'that snake of a girl'?"

"Yes, I had wondered about that," said I. "But why the need for this elaborate deception?"

Holmes tutted. "Come, come, Watson. It is plain enough to see that Dr Cuddy was very much in love with Mrs Randall. His refusal to conduct a post mortem should have told you that. He could not bring himself to dissect the body of the woman he loved."

"It is true," said Dr Cuddy. "I did love Flora. I loved her from the moment I met her. I never meant it to happen, but it did. She was always loyal and true to Sir James, although he did not deserve such regard. She had great pity for him. Even at the end, she said she owed it to him not to betray her marriage vows."

He let out a great sob and ran his hands through his already-tousled hair in great despair.

"What is to become of me?" he asked in his misery.

"I suggest you abandon this country practice of yours for the town," said Holmes, rising to his feet. "And if you cannot do right by Miss Hopkirk, then at least endeavour to confine your attentions in the future to ladies who are unattached."

Dr Cuddy glanced up at him, confusion showing on his face. "You do not intend to inform the police? Why, sir?"

"To what gain? The lady is dead and her husband has confessed to her murder. What is to be gained by pouring further salt into their wounds? If the police discover the truth, then so be it, but it is not my place to do their work for them."

So saying, he drew out his watch.

"Well, come, Watson, if we hurry we may yet catch the last train to London. Since arriving here, I have slept poorly and dined frugally. I have no intention of remaining here any longer than necessary. Good day, Dr Cuddy."

Out in the hall, we paused by the open doorway and stared out at the rain. Holmes had fallen into a brown study and it took a gentle prompt from me to rouse him from his thoughts.

"I was just wondering," said he in answer to my question, "what to tell Mrs Hudson. We have saved her niece from a charge of murder, but I dare say she will not be best pleased to learn that her niece has been disappointed in love. However, I do recall mentioning at the time that Dr Cuddy seemed too good to be true."

"I find it hard to believe that all his talk of love and admiration was false," said I. "He seemed so very genuine."

"Ah, but it _was_ genuine. When he spoke of his finer feelings for the lady, it was of Mrs Randall he was speaking, not Miss Hopkirk. We may learn something there, I dare say, that a lie is always much more convincing when based on the truth, however slender it may be."

I caught his sideways glance and could not fail to notice the mischievous gleam that had come to his eyes.

"Not that that will be any consolation for our landlady, since her search for a husband for her niece must begin again in earnest." He grinned in my direction. "You might consider making yourself scarce for a few weeks, Watson."

"She will be disappointed if she looks in my direction," said I firmly. "This whole business has been enough to put anyone off falling in love for life."

"Love has it place, I dare say," mused Holmes. "Each interprets it differently. For Sir James, it was something to be ruled. For Dr Cuddy, something for which he strived but could not attain. For Mrs Randall, as she rightly predicted, it was most destructive."

"But justice has been done," said I. "And for two people at least, the world did perish."

Holmes sniffed thoughtfully.

"That sentiment of Sir James' takes on a little more significance with hindsight," said he. "But, ah, here are our horses. Let us make haste away from these moody hills back to the honest grime and smog of London, where one may contemplate the wretchedness of the human condition with at least a modicum of comfort and the assurance that Mrs Hudson's most excellent meals will never include tripe or over-greasy sausages."

**The End**

* * *

_**Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson are the creations are Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Characters and incidents mentioned in this work are entirely fictitious. This work of fan fiction has not been created for profit nor authorised by any official body.**_


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